A seemingly random ordinary day, however this solitary day holds a whirlwind of symbolism for me, my MayDay.
I will hold this day sacred, thus the details are held sacred as well. Even without sharing this sacredness, I can share the sentiments.
At 52, there are miles and miles of memories; some good, some quite honestly, fucking suck. MayDay holds them both.
Many of my childhood memories are fragmented and splintered. Childhood trauma that swims into adult trauma with a paddle board of PTSD, and the Soul learns to protect itself by shutting down certain memories. While frustrating, I consider it a gift.
There are amazing gifts that the soul provides, even if the logical mind retailiates against them.
While on a work trip to NY, I was told, in an delightfully yet incredibly crude delivery, that I was an “emotional tampon”. Any energy that flows past me, I absorb. My friend and colleague, tossed their head back and cackled, exclaiming “I have never heard a more accurate description of her”. WTF Dude, seriously!? As put-off as I was in that moment, I whole-heartedly agree.
Decades after that NY Revelation, I have made the investment to the explore the depth of this truth. I AM an emotional tampon, aka an Empath. I can feel the anguish of another soul, merely by sharing space with them. Good or bad. It goes beyond a sixth sense, it takes up residency in me. I am still a work in progress as to the shaking off or shedding of their energy, but it is a gift I don’t want to be wholly rid of.
I hurt with you. I rejoice with you. I feel that shady-ass-sideways-glance of the super creep, deep within me. Like physically, bone weary depth. I trust that. Now. A childhood of trust and broken boundaries still haunts me, but I now lean in to that vibration in my gut. Trust it.
Circling back to The MayDay, the cacophony of vibrations that fill a single day.
On any single day…
You might be in a desert place of emotion, please trust there will always be a refuge on the horizon.
Conversely, while on the mountaintop, you can assuredly see the valley that awaits your descent.
While in a circle of people, you can almost count on a Judas in your midst. Take heart, the greatest story in Christianity hinges on Judas.
While betrayal cuts deep, it is necessary to bring about new birth.
I’ve been the Judas, I’ve also been the BirthMother.
My MayDay honors all the facets of my Soul. It’s where my story sings the loudest, it’s where my heart hurts the deepest.
It’s the MayDay of my childhood with a handmade newspaper cone of handpicked violets on my doorstep – it’s the adult MayDay distress call made to anyone listening.
MayDay. MayDay.
Annisa Swanson 